


Caught

by Severina



Category: Dark Harbor (1998)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the dark haired boy smiles and steps forward, it is all David can do not to roll his eyes.  His day just gets better and better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-movie. Written for LJ's smallfandomfest for the prompt "first meeting"
> 
> * * *

David stands in line, taps a finger impatiently against his thigh before pushing back the sleeve of his suit jacket to glance at his watch. First the traffic slowdown on the way in, now this. He presses his lips together before sliding his cuff back over the rolex. It's still early, plenty of time to relax with his coffee before his morning meeting. 

He folds both hands over the leather handle of his briefcase. Lets his gaze wander to the half-filled tables, to the packets of organic coffee on the shelves. He hears Alexis' simpering voice in his head – _if you love that coffee so much why don't you simply_ buy _some and make it here at home? You could sit with me while I have my breakfast and we could chat_ – and sneers, resolutely looks away from the display.

What is taking them so damn long?

He leans around the rotund woman in front of him, peers at the counter. Only two young men working today, which explains the – no, only one young man actually working. The second is hunched over one of the machines, fiddling with buttons and levers. As David watches the boy pushes another button, shakes his dark hair out of his eyes and glances nervously over his shoulder at the blond youth manning the counter.

David's lip curls as he watches the apparent newbie struggle with the machine. How difficult can it be to make coffee pour out of a damn spout? And only one other 'barista' working? He steps back into line, makes a mental note to speak to the management about understaffing during the morning rush hour. 

When he finally reaches the counter and opens his mouth to order, the blond – "Drew", by the nametag pinned to the oversized aprons they are forced to wear – holds up a finger and steps back toward the broken machine. When the dark haired boy smiles and steps forward, it is all David can do not to roll his eyes. His day just gets better and better. 

"Hi, welcome to McQueen's," the young man says exuberantly. "What can I get you today?"

David has it in mind to tell him that he would like swift service and competent wait staff, but he holds his tongue. "Large Premium Roast," he says instead, "with—"

"No, don't tell me," the boy interrupts. "Two sweeteners, right?"

David narrows his eyes. "Yes, that's correct," he says cautiously.

"Sure," the boy says as he reaches for the cup. "Your regular order. I almost got it ready for you when I saw you in line, but I was too busy fussing with that monstrosity," he continues, glancing over his shoulder with an elaborate scowl at the faulty machine. "That's what happens when they put computer chips in everything. Supposed to make it easier, but it just makes it more confusing. But that's modern technology, right?"

"Yes," David says dryly. "Fascinating."

He looks down for his wallet, watches the boy surreptitiously as he pours the coffee. His dark shaggy hair can't obscure the sculpted cheekbones and sharp blue eyes, and his broad shoulders and slender waist practically scream health and vigor, the vitality of youth. He jerks just slightly when the boy glances up and smiles at him, smiles wanly back and sucks in a breath when he realizes that his mind had already gone to places that it is simply not allowed to go: to images of this young man spread naked and wanton in his bed, warm and energetic and alive in the way that Alexis never is, can never be.

"Hey," the boy says as he stirs the liquid slowly, "think I saw you downtown the other day. With your sister? Pretty blonde lady, anyway."

David blinks, draws himself up tightly. Somehow the thought of this boy – this beautiful stranger who will never be anything but an anonymous peddler of overly expensive hot beverages – seeing him with Alexis leaves him cold, angry. "I don't have a sister," he clips out.

"Oh, she must have been someone else, then. Pretty, though." 

David could tell him that he thought so too, once. He had actually believed that Alexis' lovely face and, more importantly, her expansive inheritance would be sufficient for his needs. He had even been true to her, for a time. And then he found himself in the areas of the city where a woman of Alexis' breeding would never venture. Found himself in the arms of men who would let him be himself for an hour or an evening – as long as the price was right.

David blinks. "Who I spend my time with is no concern of yours."

The young man frowns. "No, I just mean…" he shakes his head, lowers his eyes. "Sorry. Anyway, you're probably out with a lot of people. I've seen you down at the courthouse, sometimes. You always look busy."

"Listen, young man," David says. "I have no interest in discussing either my professional or my personal life with you. Just give me my coffee." 

The boy has been watching him so openly, so guilelessly. And David can't help feeling a pang of guilt when the young man's eyes narrow, darkness altering his features. 

"Sure," he bites out. "God forbid we make a little small talk. Guess that's too much to ask of someone like you." When he slams the coffee on the counter David has to jerk back from the spray of frothing hot liquid, turns startled eyes up to the boy who grins at him maliciously before tossing two yellow packets into the mess. "And don't forget your damn sweetener!"

David feels all eyes on him as he carefully shakes out a handful of napkins, picks his coffee up cautiously. He smiles tentatively at the frowning woman behind him as he pushes past her to his customary table. Of course, he would be the one that everyone would blame for the boy's outburst. Never mind that he was just trying to get a damn coffee, that he has his reasons for not wanting to engage in conversation with a friendly, vivacious, beautiful boy that he can never, ever have. 

He has barely taken his seat and pulled the paper from his briefcase when he hears the shouting from the front of the store. He can't make out the words, but he can clearly see the blond boy, Drew, admonishing the brunet. The dark haired boy's arms flail as he yells back, at least once clearly indicating him with a sweep of his arm. David's mouth drops open when the boy whips off his apron and throws it to the ground, shooting him a final scathing look as he stalks from the store.

David swallows dryly and looks down at his paper, tries to concentrate on the front page of the Journal. He lifts his cup with a shaking hand, tries to ignore the stares from those still waiting patiently in line and seated at the tables. 

"You could have just talked to him," someone says stridently, "like a civilized human being."

David's head whips up, but he can't find the speaker. It seems as though every pair of eyes is hostile, every face ready to vilify him. He lifts his cup again, but the fine roasted coffee that he so looks forward to every morning tastes like sludge on his tongue. 

In the end, he leaves his cup and paper behind and flees like a whipped dog.

 

The boy is slouching against the grimy brick wall, smoking, when he turns the corner.

David pauses in his stride, wonders briefly if he can turn around and sneak back the way he came. But then the boy raises his head and David is pinned by those intense blue eyes. He falters, caught by that piercing gaze, until the moment to flee has passed and he has no choice but to continue his approach.

He steps forward warily. "Are you all right?"

"No, I'm not all right," the boy yells. When his arm comes up David flinches back instinctively, but the boy is merely tossing his cigarette, the butt arcing into the street to explode in a shower of sparks in the gutter. "I just got fired from my job because of you!"

David opens his mouth to point out that it certainly wasn't him who pried into someone else's business, or him who flew off the handle and had a shouting match with his boss in the middle of a crowded store of coffee addicts. But when the boy meets his eyes, the words stick in his throat. The young man meant no harm. And David certainly remembers the days of struggling to get by, student loans piling up and certainly no help coming from his parents once his… proclivities became apparent. He takes in the boy's ripped jeans, the faded denim jacket that is no match for the bite of early autumn air. 

"I didn't mean to… cause any problems," he finally says ineffectually.

The young man shakes his head. "Man, I see you _all_ the time! You couldn't just make small talk with me? Pretend to like me? I've always been nice to you, haven't I?"

David casts his mind back, but can't remember ever seeing this particular young man before. But then, he is usually distracted by the time he gets to McQueen's, his mind alternately filled with plans for the workday ahead and trying to erase whatever drivel Alexis has spewed into his ear as she putters about in the morning and gets in his way. 

But the boy is looking at him so plaintively.

"Yes," David lies. "Of course you have. You've served me several times. Always quite pleasantly."

The young man's brow furrows before he looks quickly away, presses his lips together and slumps back against the brick wall. David has seen that closed-off look more times that he can count, usually from Alexis when he's had to make a late-night visit to the club to wash the stench of sex with a willing, handsome stranger from his skin before he can face his wife. He knows she never quite believes his stories of last-minute meetings or client dinners that run late. 

Somehow, seeing the same look on the boy's face stings just a little more than Alexis' stony silences and retreats into the bottle.

"Look," David says, "I could go back inside, explain to your superior—"

"Nah," the boy interrupts. He looks up through his bangs, and David is caught again by that frank, honest gaze. "Truth be told? I kind of hated that place. And Drew's a complete dick. The only reason I kept working there was so I could see you every morning."

David blinks, opens his mouth and then closes it slowly. 

The boy laughs derisively. "Yeah. Stupid, right? I just… I see you almost every day. I thought you were noticing me too, you know? And I can't help it. You're good looking and nice and I like you. So I decided. Today was the day. I was going to make my move. Talk to you." The boy looks down at the ground, studies his battered sneakers. "And then I find out you never really noticed me at all."

David swallows dryly. "I don't know what to—"

"I get it, okay? You're not interested."

David squeezes the handle of his briefcase so tightly that his knuckles turn white, takes a breath to still the sudden rapid beating of his heart. No back alley tryst, no money changing hands. This is simply a young, vital, beautiful man who is truly interested in him – in David Weinberg – and not in getting him off quickly and earning enough cash for his next fix. He leans against the gritty bricks, aware that even if he stops in the bathroom at the office to scrub at his jacket there will still be a grimy smear of dirt on his Armani to mark when his life changed. 

He turns his head slowly, feels the grit of the wall scrape in his hair. "I didn't say that," he says.

The boy looks up quickly, eyes wide. 

"I'm truly sorry about the job," he continues. "Let me make it up to you somehow."

The boy is silent, still as the cottage lake in the early morning. Then he lifts a brow. "You could take me out to dinner," he suggests.

David looks away. He's already spent two nights away from home this week – on legitimate business issues, not his occasional extracurricular activities. And Alexis has been making noise about how she never sees him, curling up against him when he's trying to read the evening paper, fussing about and getting in his way. A third night may tip the scales, make the next week a living hell of bitter tears and biting words.

But the boy. The boy.

He meets those sharp, intelligent blue eyes, and smiles. "Dinner it is," he says.

* * *

The young man waits at the end of the dock, stares blankly at his reflection in the water. He doesn't move until he hears Drew's footsteps slapping on the pier.

"Well?" Drew calls out eagerly. "Did he fall for it?"

In turning the boy shakes himself to life. "Hook, line—" the boy pauses, tosses his cigarette into the water and watches it disappear before turning back with a grin, "and sinker. Told me all about how he remembers me serving him 'quite pleasantly'. How'd you get everybody else out of the place, anyway?"

"Told them I'd put an extra three hours on their pay packets if they scrammed for an hour," Drew says. "Koslowski never checks the damn things."

"Nice," the boy says. He pulls out his wallet, cocks a brow. "What'd we say, forty?"

"Fifty," Drew corrects. The young man can feel Drew's eyes on him, eagerly watching as he peels off the bills. They disappear almost faster than he can follow once he's handed them over, and then Drew looks up, his expression curious. "Why'd you want to run that whole scam, anyhow?"

The boy looks out across the water, eyes dark in the waning light. Somewhere beyond that pier and the gently lapping waves there is an island, and a rambling house, and seclusion. There is a future, if only he's willing to do what it takes to grab it.

"Oh," he says lightly, "I've got my reasons."


End file.
